


Unregistered

by zaphodsgirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Baking, Christmas Fluff, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff and Humor, M/M, SPN Holiday Mixtape, Second-Hand Embarrassment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:40:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21936136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zaphodsgirl/pseuds/zaphodsgirl
Summary: At the yearly charity bake-off that Dean runs, things are thrown into chaos when someone unexpected arrives.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 28
Kudos: 187
Collections: Holiday Mixtape 2019





	Unregistered

**Author's Note:**

> Tons of thanks to both [whichstiel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whichstiel) and [sconesandtextingandmurder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sconesandtextingandmurder) for the last minute beta help in the midst of the holiday season! And I'm grateful to Janet and Diamond for indulging my ham-fisted attempts at inclusion when I drill them every year about baked goods for Hanukkah.
> 
> This is my third (!!!) year contributing to Holiday Mixtape

“I’ve got a good feeling about this year,” Garth says with entirely too much enthusiasm for this early in the morning. Even so Dean has to take a sip of coffee to hide his grin before turning to him with a surly expression.

“You’ve been saying that for the past three years.”

“That’s not entirely true,” Charlie says over her shoulder as she turns on the overhead lights. The large empty space of the gymnasium makes their footfalls echo as they cross the shiny wood floor to the table that's waiting for them. “He’s been saying it for much longer than that, but you’ve only known about the last three, and you're probably gonna hear it every year for the rest of your life.”

Dean groans, but Garth just beams at both of them, completely unashamed. 

"Alright, let's open the doors and get them in here to set up, we've got a long day ahead of us."

Charlie gives him a thumbs up as she walks back out into the hall to unlock the doors into the athletic center, following the arrows labeled "Check in this way" in reverse. Garth opens a cardboard box on the floor and starts pulling out the contents: information sheets for every contestant to fill out, aprons, name tags, a label maker, and a couple of clipboards. He glances at them before handing one solemnly to Dean. 

"Nineteen contestants this year," he announces as though that information is new, and Dean rolls his eyes as he takes the offered clipboard. Garth holds a pen out for him as if he's turning over a sacred blade. "Not too shabby, although I aimed for twenty." He sighs, looking wistful. "Maybe we'll get there next year."

"Well, we’ll have to cut it off there no matter what. We can't fit any more than that into the gym, and we don’t have storage space for more equipment even if we could afford it." Two rows of baking stations extend along the polished boards of the gymnasium, painstakingly set up the previous evening with the assistance of the maintenance staff. Along the hallways of the athletic center itself, just outside the gym, folding tables have been set up for craft vendors. Dean can hear them all streaming in now that Charlie has opened the doors, the bustle of bodies and stamping feet unfurling into the large space like a flower opening to the sun, and he puts on his game face as she leads them into the gym itself.

“Okay, vendors check in on the left, contestants on the right,” she directs, and three people line up eagerly in front of Dean. 

"Alright," he says, clicking the pen and raising his checklist. "Name?"

***

The next half hour is a steady stream of people, and Dean dutifully checks all the contestants off the list as Charlie hands them packets and directs them to pick out an empty station to set up. He's glancing through the list to see who's left to arrive when someone clears their throat, and he looks up into a pair of blue eyes that stun him into silence.

"Uh," he says eloquently, and the man in front of him squints. He’s wearing a cream cable knit sweater over a blue button down shirt, but the sleeves have been rolled up to his elbows, exposing muscular forearms that are fairly tan despite the time of year. He’s got a long tan coat draped over one arm. 

“You’re hot,” Dean says, utterly failing to end the sentence with the proper inflection. 

The man blinks in confusion. “I'm here to check in?" he says in a rich and dark timbre, and Dean swallows. 

“Sure, sure. I just meant, uh, if you’re already warm enough to remove your coat you’re probably going to get too hot while you bake.” 

“Yes,” the man draws out, tilting his head to look at Dean curiously. “That’s why I’ve layered.”

"Right." Dean’s mind is suddenly filled with the image of this stranger baking shirtless in the middle of the gym, and he’s now terribly conscious of the fact that he’s wearing a brightly colored Christmas sweater with Santa nibbling a cookie on the front of it. “I’ll just, uh.” He reaches for the pen but instead sends it flying off the table and dropping to the floor, where both he and the new arrival stare at it for a moment. The man gives him an indulgent smile before squatting down to retrieve it, then stands up so sinuously that Dean feels all the blood in his body rush to several specific places. 

"Are you feeling alright? You look rather flushed." The question is innocent but the punctuation mark is where all that stops, because the second sentence is full of something intense and wicked, and the man has a look in his eyes as though he can read Dean's mind.

"Yeah," Dean says quickly, reaching out for the proffered pen, fingers brushing against the stranger’s in a way that feels entirely too intimate for a first meeting. The man smirks. "Sorry, my mind was wandering and I was, uh, you startled me." 

He rallies, sitting up straight and flashing a smile at the man before him, all dark hair and full lips and honest to god cleft in his chin. Dean unconsciously licks his own lips, and the man's eyes follow the movement so quickly that Dean has to restrain his own grin. Ugly sweater doesn’t seem to be hurting his chances. 

Dean clicks the pen with authority. "What's your name?"

"Cas Novak." Dean puts his head down to hide the furrow in his brow, because he doesn't remember it from the list, and he'd swear he had the whole thing memorized. Even so, he scans it once from top to bottom, then again from bottom to top. He bites his lip, then makes a command decision and puts a check mark next to a blank space at the bottom, letting the clipboard fall against his chest and glancing to his right. Charlie is giving him a look that says she's on to him completely, while Garth looks confused. 

"I don't think..." he starts to say, and Dean kicks him under the table.

"First time competing?" Dean asks sweetly. Cas smiles and nods in earnest, and it takes him from smoking hot severity to adorable muffin so quickly that Dean can feel his heart leaving his chest and placing itself firmly in this stranger’s pocket.

"Yes," Cas confirms happily, the timbre of his voice ticking up in his excitement. "I’ve been trying to work up the courage to enter ever since I moved here."

"Where from?"

"Chicago. I grew up in a small town like this but I went to college there, worked in the area for a while." He looks around the gym, and Dean stares at the long column of his neck and the tantalizing lump of his Adam's apple. "Now I'm here."

"You sure are." Dean can practically hear Charlie rolling her eyes two seats away. He picks the clipboard back up. "Could you confirm the spelling of your name for me, Cas? And your phone number as well." He pretends to be reading the information off the clipboard as he carefully commits it to memory. "Great, that's great. Okay, head over there to Charlie." She waves as he points at her, and Cas smiles in her direction. "She'll give you a packet and tell you what to do next." 

"Thank you, um." 

"Dean," he says, extending a hand. "Dean Winchester."

Cas slides their palms together before gripping firmly, and Dean gulps. "Hello, Dean."

Dean stares at their clasped hands for a moment before he collects his dignity and pumps them up and down, pulling away before he makes a fool of himself. Cas moves down to Charlie, pulling a rolling bag behind him, and as Garth leans over he puts up a finger to tell him to wait as he quickly and carefully writes the name "Cas Novak" next to the check mark he made, then the phone number he recited. 

"What are you doing?" Garth whispers. "He's not on the list, I never got his entry fee or registration..."

"You wanted an even twenty, you've got an even twenty," Dean hisses back. "I'll pitch in the registration cost, don't worry about it."

"But we're only set up for nineteen people!" The register of Garth’s voice is climbing in his panic, and Dean kicks him under the table again as Cas glances back in their direction.

"We have extra welcome packets because I made too many, so if we hustle and get that spare station set up no one will be the wiser." 

Thankfully Garth doesn’t ask any more questions, but heads off to the storage room.

***

Dean loses sight of Cas as the last of the contestants check in, but Charlie gives him a knowing look as she double checks the list of vendors.

“He took the very last station on the right side, at my suggestion,” she says without looking up. “So he won’t see you and Garth setting up the additional station down at this end if you hurry and get it done before he finishes unpacking. Garth brought everything in on the cart five minutes ago.”

"Sure thing, boss," he says with a mock salute and a cheeky grin. 

"So?" Garth is grinning despite the fact that he's wrestling with a portable oven, and Dean feels a surge of guilt as he helps him move it into place. 

"So nothing." He is not going to gush about boys with Garth while there’s work to be done, because the man has absolutely no poker face, and Dean doesn’t want him audibly sighing for the rest of the day every time he catches Dean checking Cas out.

Garth looks like he wants to press, but the clock is ticking so Dean turns his back to uncoil the extension cords, and he seems to get the hint. Focus. He just needs to focus and stop thinking about dark, messy hair and five o'clock shadow, or he'll be a clumsy mess all day. 

***

They’re collecting information from all the contestants prior to the judges’ arrival when Dean talks to Cas again. 

"I need to collect the index card Charlie gave you, did you get it all filled out?" 

“Oh yes, of course.” He hands it to Dean, but all the bravado he had earlier seems to have left him. Dean glances at it just long enough to know that Cas is making pecan pie. Excellent. Cas is just standing at his station with his hands in his pockets, ingredients and utensils neatly set up, looking like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. 

“You okay?”

Cas starts to nod, then looks around at all the other contestants who have finished setting up their workstations and are standing about in groups, socializing. “It’s just...I’m not usually around a lot of people at once, and it’s just occurred to me that I don’t know a single soul.”

“How long ago did you move here?”

Cas looks down at his feet, hands in his pockets, clearly embarrassed. “Three years?”

A wave of sympathy washes over Dean. “It was really brave for you to show up today. That must have been really hard.” Cas just shrugs, then looks with longing at the people milling about. 

A group on the other side of the gym waves to Dean as he glances in their direction, and he waves back with a smile.

"Do you know everyone?" Cas asks curiously. "Just from organizing the contest?"

"I grew up here, actually. Even went to this very high school. Moved away for a while, but I came back six years ago and took a position here.”

“I can’t imagine moving back to my hometown,” Cas says, and Dean can hear the shudder in his voice. 

“Yeah, it wasn’t at the top of my list either, but my dad passed suddenly.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” 

Dean nods. Most people are sorry, and he lets them be. “I was only substitute teaching, hoping to work my way into a permanent position, but my little brother was about to start law school. So I moved back home, thinking it would just be for a little while. That was six years ago. Job opened up here, people knew me, I had the qualifications.” 

"Is that when you started all this?” 

"No, that was the old history teacher, Ms. Mosley. It was really small at first, just trying to elevate your usual holiday bake sale into something fun. By the time I came it was already in the gym, it had gotten so big, and was raising a few thousand dollars for the local food bank."

"That's pretty impressive." 

"She was a formidable lady," Dean says, smiling at the memory. "She recruited me to bake about a week after the school year started, after I brought in some blueberry turnovers I'd made for everyone. She wagged her finger at me in the teacher's lounge and said I had an obligation to participate." He shrugs. "I placed twice, won my third time. By then Missouri was ready to retire, and she asked me if I'd take it over."

"It must have been a daunting task, to inherit such a legacy."

"Charlie and Garth were part of the inheritance, and that made it a lot easier. Charlie is one of my best friends now, and Garth is a great guy, once you get used to the hugging. He helped Missouri put the first challenge together when he was still a student and he's been helping every year since, which I find really ironic since he's a dentist now."

"That seems nefarious." 

"Garth is more garrulous than nefarious, trust me." 

Cas laughs aloud at that, and Dean thinks _I could get used to that sound_.

"And Charlie?" 

"She moved here a few years before I came back, and started helping almost right away with automated mailing lists and spreadsheets. Honestly, I'd have been lost without her, without both of them. They basically built the vehicle, I'm just driving it now." 

Cas nods, looking around the room, eyes on all the people milling about. “I’m glad I can be here.”

“Want to meet some of the competition?” 

Cas looks up, his face brightening, a slow smile creeping onto his features. 

“Do you have time?”

“Sure, sure. We’re still waiting for the judges to arrive. Come on.” 

He leads Cas up the row, and the first station they come to has a well-dressed, elegant older woman. She gives them a saucy wink that makes Dean blush a little even though he should be used to her by now. 

“Cas, this is Mildred. She’s basically an institution here.”

“Stop it, you.” She turns to give Cas an appreciative look. “It’s nice to see some new blood, Dean," she purrs, and Cas laughs. 

"You behave," he says, pointing at her, and she giggles as though she were seventeen instead of seventy.

"This seems like a real friendly community you've got here," Cas says dryly, as they walk on.

"Well, there's no deep dish pizza, but community we got.” They come up to a middle-aged woman who is methodically taking utensils out of a crate, one of a stack that are sitting on a hand truck. She has long, light brown hair and gives Cas a firm handshake when Dean introduces them. "Ellen runs a place called The Roadhouse. Excellent food, beer so cold it hurts your teeth, bare minimum of a dress code; you know, your standard dive bar.”

“You watch your mouth, young man,” she says, crossing her arms. “There’s nothing standard about my place.” Her tone is harsh but she’s working hard to suppress a smile as Dean pulls Cas away.

“Rufus, here, he's your standard old codger full of piss and vinegar.”

“Better than being full of stuffing like your head,” Rufus says as they stop, and Dean can’t help but laugh at the alarmed look on Cas’s face as they shake hands. “Don’t worry, you get used to him.” Rufus rolls his eyes as they move on, and Dean leans close to whisper. “He used to be a bounty hunter down south, and he's got tons of great stories. You get some food and a couple of drinks in him and you’re golden." They both glance back, and Rufus crosses his arms, glaring until they turn back around. "Don't mind the stare, it’s an intimidation tactic. He tries it on all the newbies because he's always been a bridesmaid, but never a bride.”

“Thanks,” Cas mutters. “I really needed a mental image of that man in peach chiffon and strappy sandals.” 

Dean laughs so hard he has to stop, leaning his hands on his knees until he can catch his breath. Cas regards him with a soft, pleased smile as he stands up, wiping his eyes. 

“Oh man, I’m so upset it took this long for you to join us, but don’t ever leave.” He claps Cas on the shoulder and starts walking again, but one glance at the next contestant has him picking up the pace. “Okay let's, uh, move briskly as we pass Becky over here, just wave." He does just that to the petite woman organizing the items on her table as though she's trying to solve an ancient riddle, and thankfully she only glances up quickly to return the wave before going back to the task at hand. Dean leans close again, and not only because he doesn’t want to be heard -- Cas smells fantastic. "She's that mom that volunteers for everything, you know the kind?"

"Then why are we avoiding her?" Cas whispers back, and Dean can feel hot breath on his ear. 

"Sorry, old habit. She used to have a huge crush on my brother to the point where it was creepy, and I have a reflexive cringe response. She’s mellowed out a lot, and she does a ton of work for the community, but old habits die hard."

Cas nods sagely. "Noted." 

"That's the downside to the community aspect: it knows your whole history, and its memory is _long_." 

"Yes.” Dean detects a note of sorrow in that small word, and he hopes he can eventually find out why. “It’s hard to move on from things you want to forget if everyone else insists on remembering.” Dean wants to ask, but he knows that it’s not the time, and right now he’s just a stranger to Cas. He feels a strong desire to get that rectified as quickly as possible, and not just because he wants to sate his curiosity. 

"Here we have some other first timers," he says instead, as they near two stations where a couple of teenagers have set up side by side. "These are seniors from the school's home ec class. Every year the students in those classes vote for the two of them to compete."

"Who's this, Mr. Winchester?" Patience asks politely, but Ben pokes him in the ribs as he approaches.

"Yeah, who's this, _Mr. Winchester_?" he says in sing-song, grinning wickedly when Dean gives him a pointed look. Damn kid, he could always read Dean like a book.

"This is Mr. Novak," Dean says, arching an eyebrow before turning his back on Ben to introduce the young woman first. "This is Patience, who is an exceptional student." Cas shakes her hand and she smiles politely. 

"And this is Ben,” Dean says, taking the dark haired boy into a headlock. “Who is...a student."

"Hey!" Ben smacks at his arm until Dean releases him, and he gives Cas’s hand a perfunctory shake. 

"How's your mom, kiddo? She coming later?"

"Her and Matt both. That won't be weird, right?" Ben looks a little concerned, but Dean shakes his head. 

"Of course not, though I might have to take him aside and ask if he's ever gonna do right by her.” He gives Cas a look. “It's been like three years they’ve been dating."

"No, don't tease him! He has a terrible poker face and you'll ruin the surprise." Ben grins at him. "Mom's gonna have a really nice Christmas."

"Hey, that's great, kiddo!" He gets Ben into another headlock as the boy squeals in protest, until Dean releases him. He glances at the ingredients set out on the countertop. "So what's it gonna be this year?"

"My latest apple experiment. I think you'll like it," Ben says with excitement, turning to Cas. “Dean taught me to bake when I was little…”

“Dude, you were like eleven.”

“...and the first thing we ever made was an apple pie. It’s my favorite.” 

“I’m excited to see what you do with that,” Cas says, and Ben beams.

"Can't wait." Dean ruffles his hair before Ben can push him away and stick out his tongue. 

“Shouldn’t you be going, _Mr. Winchester_?” 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Dean says, but a glance at his watch tells him that he needs to cut this short. "Let me walk you back." Dean says as he puts a hand on Cas shoulder and turns him back towards his own station, refraining at the last second from surreptitiously giving it a squeeze. 

"Your student seems quite familiar with you. He called you by your first name. Isn't that highly irregular?" 

“Well, I used to date his mom for a while, so he knew me as Dean before I became Mr. Winchester." 

"Oh. I see." Cas clears his throat but doesn't say anything else as they walk, and Dean gives him a curious look.

“He’s very good about not calling me that during school hours.”

“Of course.” 

They've reached the end of the line and the unoccupied station, and Cas moves into the space, putting the prep table between him and Dean. "It was nice of you to make some introductions." Dean takes a step back at the wooden note in his voice, different from the warmth it held earlier. Not cold, necessarily, but guarded.

"Uh, sure, no problem. I'll leave you to it. Are you sure you..."

"Thank you, Mr. Winchester." This time the dismissal is as cold and clear as a winter's day. 

Dean turns away, stunned speechless. He quickly runs back through their conversation as he starts to walk away, trying to figure out what he did to cause this shift in demeanor. It doesn’t take long, and thankfully he hasn’t even passed Mildred when it clicks. He turns back, even though he can see Mildred watching him intently in his peripheral vision.

“Hey, Cas?” The man sighs as he looks up, face impassive, and Dean throws the dice. “I’m bi.”

Those blue eyes widen, and Cas blinks several times like an owl. “Oh.” 

“Yeah. Thought you might want to know.”

“I certainly do,” Cas intones solemnly, giving him a piercing gaze and raising one eyebrow like a conductor calling an orchestra to attention, if the orchestra were Dean's dick. "Thank you for acting as my escort." His voice drops an octave on the last word, and Dean fights to compose himself and act professional.

"Of course." He does not squeak, because he is a grown man, for Christ’s sake.

"Well, then. I hope I can look forward to more...personal attention from you in the future."

"Right. Sure. Yeah. Whatever I can, uh, do." He realizes he's nodding like a hula girl on the dashboard of a cab, and takes a step back. "I'll just, uh, I'll see you later."

It would be unseemly to turn tail and run, so instead Dean pivots and walks back to the other end of the gym at a brisk pace with the air of someone who is very busy and important, ignoring Mildred’s high pitched laughter.

"Well?” Charlie asks when he joins them at the table, fanning himself with the index cards he has clutched in one hand. It feels really warm in the gym, suddenly. "Do you have a date?"

"It would be unethical for me to ask one of the contestants for a date." It probably would have been more like begging than asking, but she doesn’t need to know that. 

"This isn't the Great British Bake Off and you're not even a judge. What happened?"

"Nothing happened, why does something have to happen?" Charlie just crosses her arms and cocks a hip, staring at him until he sighs in defeat. "Nothing happened, okay?"

"Really? Because I definitely got the impression he wouldn't mind seeing you naked. Preferably today." He tries not to take the bait, but Charlie has a thousand pound stare despite her tiny size. "Tell me every single word you exchanged."

He caves, because of course he does, and she squeals at the end before punching him in the arm. 

"Ow, what?"

"He is so warm for your form!" 

"Can you keep a lid on it please? We have hours of highly public interaction ahead of us and I don't need you distracted by the hot new contestant."

"Uh-huh, _I'm_ the distracted one. Sure, Jan."

"Charlie, can you _please_ stop speaking in memes and go see if the judges are here yet?"

"Garth is bringing them over now, don't get your panties in a twist."

"I should have _never_ told you about that."

It’s a relief that the judges are now close, because nothing will kill sexy thoughts faster than having your mom in the room. 

"Hey sweetie," Mary says as she gives him a squeeze, and Bobby pats him on the shoulder.

"What, no hug?" Crowley says with mock disdain, hands lifted at his sides.

"Hugs are only for people I like."

"That must be why you invited me to judge again this year." 

Dean gives him a good-natured slap on the back, and Crowley rolls his eyes. "You're a terrible cook, but you've got an incredible palate, I'd be a fool not to put it to good use."

"I can think of _other_ uses..."

"Jesus, Crowley, my mom is _right here_."

"Yes, I am, I am in fact standing right here, could you not?"

"Apologies, madam," Crowley says with a curt bow, and Mary just rolls her eyes as Garth comes up and hands a microphone to Charlie, who fiddles with it for a moment before passing it to Dean.

"Testing," he says into it, cringing at the slight feedback whine, and he holds the microphone a bit further away. “Testing.” His voice rings loud and clear all the way up to the rafters, and though dozens of eyes are on him now there’s only one pair he’s keenly aware of. "Okay ramblers, it’s almost time to get rambling. We’re gonna start in fifteen minutes, so finish getting your areas set up.” He turns off the mic and hands it to Charlie before going out to the hallway and approaching the first table inside of the doors, where a dark-haired girl sits, ready to take tickets.

"Is it time, Mr. Winchester?"

"Yeah, Krissy," he says, tossing the keys to her. "Unleash the hounds."

***

"Good morning everyone!" Dean's voice cuts through the chatter of the crowd, the mic giving it a bit of reverb that bounces off the high ceilings. “Our annual Holiday Charity Bake Off is about to begin!” All eyes in the place turn in his direction, and he cringes as Charlie hands him the hat he wears every year. She smirks at him, knowing full well what’s on his mind: he’s going to spend the next couple of hours parading around in front of his new crush not only in a dumb sweater, but a giant elf hat, complete with ears. 

Oh, well. If Cas isn’t interested after this, it was never going to go anywhere anyway. He puts the hat firmly on his head, and when the crowd cheers he bows with a flourish.

“As you know, proceeds from today’s event go to our local food bank. This includes all the funds generated from ticket sales, as well as the auction items. Each of today’s vendors has also generously donated an item for auction, in addition to the wonderful crafts they have for sale. Every year we’ve raised more money than the year before, and we couldn’t keep that up without the support of our generous community.”

He pauses as applause thunders through the gym. At the far end, he spies Cas clapping steadily, and when he sees Dean looking at him he winks.

Dean smiles as the applause dies down, then holds up a hand.

“Bakers!”

Everyone in the gym freezes in place, all eyes turned in his direction. 

"Start...your...ovens!"

He drops his arm and the buzzer on the game clock sounds, counting down the hours they will have to prep and bake two identical, holiday-themed desserts. Dean will visit each station with the judges throughout the competition, providing color commentary for the audience. He begins by going over to the table where they’ve been reading through each contestant’s description of their recipe.

“No rugelach from Rufus this year,” Crowley pouts. “I was really looking forward to it.”

“You never pick it as the winner, I’m not surprised he’s trying something else.”

“Oh, so it’s my fault we won’t have any flaky goodness?”

“Stop it. Those little jelly donuts are going to be delicious.” 

“Dean, Ben’s making some kind of apple tart, did you see?”

“Yeah, he mentioned when I took Cas around to introduce him to everybody.”

Mary’s head whips up and her eyes zero in on him like a laser. 

“Cas? Who’s that?” He rolls his eyes at her and makes every effort to sound casual.

“New contestant this year, that’s all.” 

“I didn’t realize you were making time to do introductions for all the new contestants,” Bobby says, and Mary just raises an eyebrow.

“Which one is he?” Crowley cranes his neck, staring down the rows, trying to spot someone he doesn’t know.

“Could you all stop, please? We’ve got work to do, come on.”

He drags them out onto the floor of the gymnasium to do their rounds, hoping they’ll forget this conversation by the time they reach the man himself.

***

It’s nearly an hour before they finally reach Cas’s station, and unfortunately Dean tells on himself.

"Cas Novak is a new contestant this year, so let's give him a warm welcome!" he announces to the crowd, which whoops with enthusiasm. Cas ducks his head shyly as a blush creeps up his neck, and Dean lets the mic drop as he admires that for a moment. He catches Bobby giving him a look out of the corner of his eye, and stands up straight. "Cas is making a pecan pie, and I'm pretty excited about that, since you all know I consider pie to be one of _the_ most important food groups, and I just love pecan." 

“So _you’re_ Cas,” Mary says warmly, looking him up and down. “Wonderful.”

“ _Mom_ ,” Dean hisses under his breath. 

“Yes, very tasty,” Crowley concurs with a purr, leaning closer to her. “He certainly does have a type, doesn’t he?”

Cas, to his credit, busies himself with arranging pecans prettily on the top of his pie, pretending he can’t hear, but Dean sees the tiniest twitch at the corner of his mouth.

“Only when he’s thinking long-term,” Bobby mutters, and that’s when Cas finally lifts his head, surprise on his features as he stares at Bobby before glancing at Dean.

“Moving on now!” Dean says loudly, glaring at all three of them and practically shoving Crowley down to the next station.

“This is Mildred’s tenth year in the competition, and she’s won twice in the past,” Dean announces to the audience, trying to get back on some familiar footing. “This year she’s whipping up a cranberry pie. Do you think that’s enough to get you a third win this year, Mildred?”

He holds the mic towards her and feels a sense of dread too late to take it back. 

“Well, I’m doing my best but there’s some pretty _stiff_ competition this year, wouldn’t you say, dear?” 

Dean snatches the mic away so quickly it bounces off his chest, sending a reverb around the gym as Crowley guffaws. 

“Is he single, Mildred, do you know?” Mary whispers to her as if they’re having tea together instead of discussing Dean’s love life in the center of a gym while they’re the focus of several hundred people. Dean thought he was mortified five minutes ago, but this is a level of embarrassment reserved for one of the circles of hell, he’s sure of it. He fervently wishes to go back to that simpler time earlier today, when he was just worried about looking stupid in his holiday hat and sweater.

“Well, he’s not wearing a ring, so that’s hopeful, but I don’t know for absolutely sure.”

“I should have asked him while we were over there, maybe on our next pass…”

“ _Bobby you are not helping.”_

“He did seem very happy to learn that Dean was bi, so that’s promising.”

“ _Mildred_.”

“See what you can find out for us, won’t you, Mildred? That’s a darling.”

She winks at Crowley as Dean drags them away, hissing under his breath. 

“Can you all just _stop_ , for crying out loud, I’m almost thirty-three years old and I don’t need help from any of you.”

“If you didn’t need any help you would be settled down already,” Bobby says.

“You’re too good of a catch to be dying on the vine, honey, really, it’s been what, three years since your last relationship?”

“Four, actually,” Crowley corrects her, and Dean stops walking to pinch the bridge of his nose. 

“Let’s just...move along.”

Unfortunately, his nightmare continues at Ellen’s station. He narrates for the crowd about her fantasy chocolate pie as she pours an egg mixture over layers of chocolate, coconut, pecans and almonds, but as she covers the edge of the crust with strips of foil Bobby speaks to her lowly.

“You know anything ‘bout that new boy down the end?”

“Seen him around town here and there, but don’t have any info,” Ellen says without pause. “Want me to ask around?”

“Yes,” Mary and Crowley both say.

“No,” Dean hisses under his breath at the same time. “Can we please focus? Go, get moving.”

“Looks like your boy’s got heart-eyes for the new guy,” Rufus says to Mary without preamble as soon as they get close enough, and Dean nearly drops the mic. “Seems nice. Bright eyes, firm handshake. Pretty firm ass, too.”

“Jesus _Christ_ ,” Dean says loud enough for the mic to pick up, but only just. He grips it tightly and brings it up to his mouth, determined to get this show back on track. “Rufus has been making a variation of rugelach for the last five years,” he tells the audience. “But it’s never garnered him first place.” Rufus crosses his arms and glares, and Dean makes a face at him. _Take that, old man._ “So it seems he’s finally abandoned that idea to try something new for a change, which is, uh.” He frantically shuffles the index cards as he glances at the items on the baking station, trying to place them. Rufus lets him stew for a solid minute before leaning over to speak into the mic himself.

“Sufganiyot, you heathen.”

The crowd laughs, and Dean rolls his eyes as he pulls the mic out of reach. 

“Thank you, Rufus, we’ll keep you posted,” Mary says with a grin as they keep walking. Dean glares at Rufus, who just raises an eyebrow at him, before tailing after the judges.

Too late, Dean remembers who’s at the next station.

“...works at Sandover in the finance department. Rod says he’s well-liked, but he keeps to himself _and_ he lives alone.” Her eyes gleam with excitement as Dean approaches. “I’d never actually met him so I couldn’t put a face to the name until you pointed him out. He certainly is _very_ handsome, but I think it’s more important that he’s nice, don’t you?”

“I certainly do.”

“Well, _I_ don’t, there’s nothing like a bad boy to get the blood pumping, wouldn’t you say, Mary?”

She laughs. “Touche, Fergus. Touche.”

“Well, he could be a bad boy in private! You can never tell who’s got a naughty side behind closed doors, but it’s usually the quiet ones, you know?”

“Becky,” Dean says into the microphone, his voice thundering with barely restrained menace. “Is making a peppermint layer cake. Isn’t that right?” He gives her a fierce look that tells her to behave as he holds the mic out for her.

“Yes, and I’m also going to decorate it like a fabulous winter wonderland, so I can’t wait for all of you to see it!” she says, unsure at first under Dean’s glare but rallying into squeaky excitement by the end. 

He turns away from her booth in satisfaction, rolling his eyes at the whispered conversation that continues behind him.

“He’s got a good job, that’s promising.”

“You know it doesn’t make a difference what he does for a living, Bobby.”

“I think Pappy here is just saying he seems like the dependable sort, not that he’s well off, Mary.”

Dean wonders idly how much a new microphone costs, because he’s pretty sure he’s going to vomit all over this one before the end of the day. 

They visit Patience and talk about the sticky toffee pudding she’s working on without incident, and he hopes that maybe they finally got the hint as the little group moves to where Ben is working.

“Hi Mother Mary!” he says cheerfully, and she pats his hand with a smile. He’d started calling her that years ago when Dean introduced her as “My mother, Mary” and it stuck, first because he thought it was funny, but then out of habit. 

Dean lets Ben tell the audience all about his apple tarte tatin, proud when he pronounces it correctly even though he pauses first, because he clearly wants to get it just right. Ben gives him a sly look, as if Dean was expecting him to do it wrong. He starts to pull the microphone away, but Ben turns to Mary and speaks loudly enough that it still picks up what he says next.

“Dean has a huge crush on that guy with the blue eyes, did you meet him yet?”

The audience titters, and Dean wonders how many of them will be laughing when he drops dead of apoplexy right before their very eyes. He smacks the microphone against Crowley’s chest and swiftly walks away.

***

The space underneath the gymnasium bleachers is fairly dim, the brightness of the overhead lights blocked by several hundred bodies in the stands above his head. The din they create is like a cloak he can hide in. He wonders if he can just live here now, but Charlie is like a bloodhound and he knows she’s going to find him eventually.

So he’s surprised when someone else gets to him first.

“Dean, are you alright?”

He closes his eyes, but restrains himself from banging the back of his head against the wall.

“Cas, you shouldn’t neglect your pie. It’s very delicate.”

“It’s just a pie,” Cas says, and when Dean opens his mouth to argue the man is suddenly very, very close. 

“I, um.”

Cas places a hand against the wall on one side of Dean’s head. “I’m sorry your friends and family are trying to embarrass you.” He turns to face Dean, placing his other hand on the wall, caging him in but not touching, and Dean swallows. “But I thought you might want to know that I find it very encouraging.”

“You,” Dean licks his lips, and that azure gaze drops to follow the motion. “You do?”

Cas nods. “I tend to second guess myself a lot, have too much self-doubt to act on things I want. So I’m afraid that I enjoyed all the ways they poked fun at you, because they wouldn’t have done that if there wasn’t something there to poke at, would they?”

Dean just shakes his head, and one hand comes up to rest on Cas’s hip. They regard one another in the dim light, barely daring to breathe, and then Cas’s lips curve into a slow smile before he leans in to capture Dean’s own in a kiss.

The thirty-minute warning buzzer goes off before they pull away from each other, breathing hard, their lips red and flushed with blood, and those aren’t the only things. 

“Shit, how long have we been back here?” Dean tries to see the time on his watch in the dim light, but Cas just shakes his head.

“It doesn’t matter, because there’s no way I can leave these bleachers for at least another ten minutes unless I want to embarrass myself even worse.”

“Rufus in peach chiffon and strappy sandals.”

Cas blinks at him several times, then pulls away. “That was surprisingly effective. Can we continue this later tonight?”

“Pick you up for dinner at eight?”

***

The contestants are all sent to hang out in the locker rooms as their offerings are put on display, and the judges make their way to each station tasting a single one, while leaving the second pristine for the auction.

“This is obviously burnt,” Crowley says, wrinkling his nose at the pecan pie slices in front of them, frowning at the whole pie next to it. “Someone didn’t manage their time well, I suppose.”

“That’s definitely gotta be a black mark in Dean’s books,” Bobby mutters. “Burning pie is a cardinal sin.” 

“I’m afraid no one is going to bid on a burned pie, either,” Mary says sadly.

Dean shrugs and says nothing, pretending not to notice his mother studying him. He collects their scorecards without comment, and hands them to Charlie to tally up. 

He doesn’t even cringe when Becky is announced as the winner. Instead he sneaks back to Cas’s station and looks at the empty sheet for the auction before he bids twenty-five dollars for blackened pecan pie.

*******

That night sees Dean rapidly disintegrating into a nervous wreck, standing in front of his bathroom mirror with three different ties dangling from his fingers, alternately holding them up against the dark green button down he's beginning to sweat through.

"I'm gonna have to change my goddamn shirt before I decide on a tie, and then start this whole process over," he grumbles to himself, tossing them all to the floor in frustration. He sighs, leaning on the sink with both hands to take several deep breaths.

"It's not your first first-date, Dean, get a grip." He pinches the bridge of his nose. "If he was gonna be scared off it would have _definitely_ happened already."

Calm again, he raises his head enough to make eye contact with himself in the mirror, then nods and stands up straight. He peruses his reflection, turning to the side with a hand in his pocket, then doing his best blue steel before he shoots finger guns at himself. 

"This is as good as it's gonna get," he decides, undoing his top button and deciding to forego the tie altogether. His phone chimes from the bedroom, and he smiles at the name that pops up in the text message because he's a sap.

_you'd better just come and pick me up, or I'll be forced to change clothes yet again_

He laughs, shaking his head. _Good, I was about to use my own ties for something other than their intended purpose._

The phone goes off again as he's putting on his coat and scarf, and he needs a minute to breathe and collect himself when he reads the reply.

_that's a scenario I've been imagining all day so please don't proceed without me_

"If I survive this date without coming in my pants like a teenager, it will be a miracle," he says, raising his eyes to the heavens before heading out the door into the lightly falling snow. _On my way,_ he sends in reply before turning the key in the ignition and letting the roar of the Impala comfort him as it settles into its familiar rumble.

It doesn't take him long to get to the apartments where Cas lives, and he knows the layout of the complex well -- he'd lived there himself when he'd first moved back home -- so he finds the correct building easily and takes the first available parking spot. 

_Did you want to just come out?_ he types, but hesitates before hitting send, then carefully deletes it before getting out of the car and rapidly making his way into the building. He takes the stairs two at a time to the third floor and knocks on the door before he can lose his nerve.

It opens immediately, as if Cas had been waiting on the other side.

"Hello, Dean."

"Hey." It comes out breathless, from the run up the stairs as well as the thrill of seeing those blue eyes again, piercing into him with sharp focus. Cas is wearing a different button down from earlier, with a check pattern, and he's managed a tie where Dean had failed. "Hey, Cas."

"Would you like to come in?" He backs into the apartment, holding the door open, and Dean steps into the space with a smile. He knows the layout of these units well, so he's not surprised to see that it's basically one large room, with a half wall separating the living area from a galley kitchen. The overhead light is on in the kitchen, but the rest of the apartment is illuminated only by multi-colored lights strung around the room and blinking in various patterns, including on a small tree in the corner of the room. He instantly feels at home here, and he doesn't think it has anything to do with the familiarity of the layout.

"This is nice. I still haven't decorated my place yet." 

"I suppose you were too busy with the bake off."

"Yeah, but I have no excuse now."

"That reminds me, I want to show you something."

"What is it?"

"Well, I was trying to kill time after I got home, so I finished my holiday cards." Cas walks into the kitchen, and Dean follows, leaning one hip against the counter. "I've been working on them for weeks, tossing them all in a pile to go out into the mail once I was finished. I gathered them all up when I was done, and I found this." He holds out what looks nothing like a holiday card, but is instead a white business envelope. "Take it."

Curious, Dean takes it from him and recognizes the carefully penned address on the front. "This is made out to the school."

"Open it." Puzzled, Dean turns it over, finding the flap merely tucked in and unsealed. He digs it open and pulls out a folded sheet of paper from inside, and as he handles it a check slips out of it and flutters to the floor. That's when it clicks.

"Shit," he says. "I, um, I can explain."

"Dean," Cas says solemnly, but when Dean looks up to meet his gaze there's a twinkle in his eye and a mischievous grin doing its best to take over his lips. "How did you have me on the list if I forgot to mail in the form and my registration fee?"

"Um."

Cas takes a step closer.

"You just pretended I was on the list, didn’t you?"

"Oh, you know." The casual air sounds as forced as it feels, and Cas takes another step in his direction. "Didn't want to embarrass you."

"Is that so?" Cas says, stopping in front of him mere inches away with his hands in his pockets. Dean's mouth goes dry as Cas leans close enough for Dean to feel the heat of his breath against his own lips. "I should probably show you my gratitude."

Dean forgets whatever he was about to say as Cas leans in to carefully press their lips together. The letter and envelope drop to the floor as Dean's hands move to Cas's hips, pulling him close and deepening the kiss. Cas turns them, pressing Dean back against the counter and trailing lips over his jaw and down his throat before he pulls away. 

Dean tucks his index finger under Cas's tie just below the knot, then pinches it with his thumb. He squeezes out from between Cas and the counter, backing into the living room, letting the tie slip between his fingers as he goes, until he reaches the end. He gives it a tug. 

"Let’s move this to another venue, shall we? There's all this mood lighting, and I spied a huge couch with a couple of pillows and a blanket, and I thought..."

Cas reaches out, grabbing both his lapels and pulling him close to whisper in his ear. 

"Let's get this coat off you first."

They fumble their way across the room, leaving Dean’s coat and Cas’s tie somewhere along the floor in their wake, until they collide with the back of the sofa.

“Wait,” Dean says, pulling away. “Let me move around to the…”

Instead Cas grabs him firmly around the waist and turns them until he’s leaning against the couch himself. Looking Dean in the eye, he falls over the back of it, twisting to fall onto it lengthwise as he goes and pulls Dean down on top of him at the same time. 

“Comfy?” he asks with a smug smile at Dean’s shocked face.

“Fuck, that was...really, really hot.” He props himself up on his arms for a moment, admiring the play of the twinkling lights across the planes of Cas’s face. As much as he wants to get right back to business with the very firm body he’s pressed against, he turns serious for another reason entirely. “Hey, um. I’m sorry that you didn’t win.”

Cas reaches up, stroking one finger along the line of his jaw.

“But I did.”


End file.
